Dedicated to Sophie Christine de Chasteigner and Jean-Michel Beigbeder, without whom this book would not have been born (and neither would I)
As a loser, I know what I'm saying.
Scott Fitzgerald
So what? Well, yes! We must call things by their proper names! A person loves, and then no longer loves.
Françoise Sagan (at a dinner party at her home with Brigitte Bardot and Bernard Frank)
Love is a battle. Lost in advance.
At first everything is fine, even you. You're just amazed that you can be so in love. Every day brings a new portion of miracles. No one on Earth has ever felt so good. There is happiness, it’s as simple as that: it’s someone’s face. The whole world is smiling. For a whole year, your life is one continuous sunny morning, even at dusk and when it snows. You write books about this. Are you in a hurry to get married? Why wait if you are so happy? I don’t want to think, it makes me sad; let life itself decide for you.
In the second year, something changes. You have become more tender. Be proud of how well you and your spouse have gotten used to each other. You understand your wife “at a glance”; how wonderful it is to be one. Your spouse is mistaken on the street for your sister - this flatters you, but it also affects your psyche. You make love less and less and you think: it’s okay. You arrogantly believe that this same love is growing stronger every day, when the end of the world is just around the corner. You defend marriage in front of your bachelor friends - they don’t recognize you. And you yourself are sure that you recognize yourself when you recite your memorized lesson, trying your best not to look at the fresh girls who make the street brighter.
In the third year, you no longer try not to look at the fresh girls who make the street brighter. You don't talk to your wife anymore. Spend long hours with her in a restaurant, listening to your table neighbors babble. You and she are out of the house more and more often: this is a reason not to fuck. And soon the moment comes when you can no longer stand your other half for an extra second, because you have fallen in love with another. There’s only one thing you’re right about: life really always has the last word. In the third year you have two news - good and bad. The good news is that your wife is fed up with everything and is leaving you. The bad news: you're starting a new book.
When you're driving, the main thing is to aim between the houses and don't miss. Mark Marronier steps on the gas, causing his scooter to pick up speed. He maneuvers between cars. They flash their headlights at him and buzz when he hits them, just like at weddings in the countryside. Here's the irony of fate: Marronier is just celebrating his divorce. Today he is on tour along route No. 5 bis, and every minute counts: five seats per evening (“Castel” - “Buddha” - “Bus” - “Cabaret” - “Queen”) - that’s already cool, but think about it, that 5-bis, as the name suggests, is performed twice per night.
In such places he is often alone. Secular people are generally loners, lost in a sea of vaguely familiar faces. They cheer up, shaking hands. Every new kiss is a trophy. They indulge themselves in the illusion of their own importance by greeting celebrities, although they themselves have not done a damn thing in life. They try to be only where it is noisy - you don’t have to talk. Holidays are given to a person to hide what is on his mind. Few people know more people than Mark, and few are so lonely.
And tonight is not just a holiday. Today he has a divorce party! Hooray! To begin with, he bought a bottle from each establishment.
Rated the book
A mosquito has an eyelid of one day, a rose has three. A cat's age is thirteen years, love's age is three years. And there's nothing you can do about it.
I don’t know where and how, but our Pitsunda mosquito lives for ten days (if they don’t slam it, of course) - it’s been tested! Maybe this is because the environmental situation here is impossible to imagine better.
And the rose has been living in a vase on my table for three weeks now, and it hasn’t withered yet! Before I cut it, it still lived on the bush for some time. Because the humidity is high, and the air temperature in the kitchen in winter rarely rises above ten degrees. Well, I also change its water every other day, wash the stem and trim it...
I’m not very familiar with cats, but three of my friends have each lived for more than twenty years, and they say that some live up to 25. What is characteristic is that none of those three sat on whiskey, as their owners took care of and cherished them.
Well, what then is the age of love? Let's count now... six years?.. twenty?.. thirty?..
Yeah, stupid, I agree with you. But no dumber than the above quote from a provocative novel by a new author for me - Begbeder. A novel written, in my opinion, by a neurotic for neurotics. Moreover, he is a neurotic person, burdened with other accompanying diagnoses - capriciousness, selfishness, selfishness, frivolity, suspiciousness and vanity. Which is indirectly confirmed by the words of Mark’s first wife:
– I prefer a handsome and decent old man to a young, vulgar neurotic
And three years is more likely not the age of love, but the psycho-emotional age of the protagonist. And love... damn, sometimes I would like to kill it so as not to suffer - but no, you’re naughty, it won’t work! And how long your feeling, for which you do not want death at all, will live - it depends on a lot. Create for it, so to speak, a suitable ecological environment, do not dry out the air, do not forget to refresh the water more often and remove dead parts, take care, cherish it - and you will be happy!
I’ll probably end my acquaintance with Mr. Beigbeder here. I don't like books written by thirty-year-old kindergarteners. And there's nothing you can do about it!
Rated the book
All men are assholes. How can they treat us women this way, and most importantly love? No, definitely, they are all one, all of them! And not a single normal one! Just some kind of nightmare! All! ALL MEN ARE GOATS! And I was convinced of this once again!
...You’ve probably heard this more than once, or maybe you yourself said it, shouted, whispered, it doesn’t matter, right? In moments of despair, clouds gather over us, and under the pressure of our emotions, which pour over the edge, we say that men are goats, or love lives for three years, we speak with full awareness of our rightness, with “youthful maximalism”. I say this to show: people who shout in their reviews: “Yes, he’s lying! Love lives longer!”, “Read for everyone who has been disappointed in love, for everyone who urgently needs to recover from the mental trauma inflicted by this innermost feeling.”, “Can’t be read by naive romantics, so as not to traumatize their vulnerable soul. ", "Begbeder breaks all humanity's dreams of eternal love" It seems you haven't read this book. They either read only the title or the first part, where Beigbeder talks about his breakup with his wife.
People, dear people, what are you saying?! Begbeder showed you that love does not last three years. Every love has its own time. For some it lasts three years because it was the wrong person, for others it lasts their entire life. Why don't you read between the lines?! But would a person who wants to expose such a great feeling as love show his grandfather’s tears at his wife’s funeral? Retired colonel. Would he show his new love, which burst into his life with destructive force and remained there for a long time? And how could you miss this phrase:
“I hope that the false title of this book did not bother you too much: of course, love does not last for three years; I am happy that I was mistaken. Just think - the book was published by the Grasse publishing house, this does not mean that the truth is written in it. "
And look at how you protested, how you began to prove that “love has its time” (by the way, this is said in the book). And this is worth a lot!
You say that Begbeder suffers from “youthful maximalism”, that he is a “thirty-year-old kindergartener”, but, excuse me, have you been in such a situation? Yes, here everyone’s world will be divided into black and white, love will begin to live for three years, and men will become goats.
This is about what others are saying about this book.
I will say that read this costs, but only if you expect pleasant, easy leisure time from reading.
Beigbeder is a pleasure to read. He has a lively and moving syllable. This makes it interesting to read, even if he doesn’t say anything significant. And the book is devoured quickly.
The sun is inevitably shining. Maybe few people will notice, but I have been struggling with this phrase for more than one hour
It's also a treasure trove of quotes. When I started reading this book, as usual, I took a piece of paper to write them down, but after reading no more than 20 pages (out of 193 in the reader), I realized that there wouldn’t be enough sheets. The book can simply be taken apart for quotes.
And I was once again convinced that love is a strong, wonderful feeling!
Love is a battle. Lost in advance,” Marc Marronier, the hero of Frederic Beigbeder’s acclaimed novel “Love Lives for Three Years,” begins his story. The main character is sure: any relationship is doomed, because... I myself have never loved a woman for more than three years. All his “love” followed the same scenario:
The first stage is the stage of falling in love.
“At first everything is fine, even you. You're just amazed that you can be so in love. Every day brings a new portion of miracles... Hurry to get married - why wait if you are so happy? I don’t want to think, it makes me sad; let life itself decide for you.”
The second stage is a slight cooling, the appearance of friendly “tenderness”.
“The second year something changes. You have become more tender. Be proud of how well you and your spouse have gotten used to each other. You understand your wife “at a glance”; how wonderful it is to be one. Your spouse is mistaken on the street for your sister - this flatters you, but it also affects your psyche. You make love less and less and you think: it’s okay. You arrogantly believe that this same love is growing stronger every day, when the end of the world is just around the corner.”
And the third stage is alienation, cooling, boredom.
“In the third year, you no longer try not to look at the fresh girls who make the street brighter. You no longer talk to your wife... You and her are out of the house more and more often: this is a reason not to fuck. And soon the moment comes when you can no longer stand your other half for an extra second, because you have fallen in love with the other.”
Everything described above, of course, is just an idea of the life of a guy with a skin vector, for whom novelty is the main factor in a relationship. He would be glad to “love his wife more,” but when everything around is the same, the same thing, he wants something new, fresh, different!
However, Mark Marronier, believing in his theory of “three years of love,” is afraid: he doesn’t want the relationship to cool down, every time he waits with fear for the approaching third anniversary, until he finally finds that girl with whom he has something more connected, than bed or mutual sympathy. “That very date” is approaching, and he still loves his chosen one. Why?
The theory that love lasts three years is not the invention of a specific hero in the novel. It was put forward by biological scientists who thoroughly studied the physiological reactions of a person during a relationship.
Most people agree with this hypothesis, because... They themselves experienced it in life: after three years (sometimes earlier), their relationship, so wonderful at the beginning, ended in failure.
Love lives for three years. What is this curse? Bad sign? Superstition? There is no mysticism. Everything is explained.
Three years - exactly how much time was given by our mother nature for people to attract each other, give birth to a child and feed him. It is believed that this amount of time is enough for the baby and mother to survive. Further, the child becomes less vulnerable, the mother can get food herself, and the man, the male, in fact, becomes unnecessary. He can move on, find another woman, have another child... and so on in a circle.
What does it take for a woman and a man to be attracted to each other? Attraction pheromones. Most people find their partner by that very elusive smell. This is the main component of physical intimacy: pheromones, which excite certain chemical processes in the human brain. Each stage of love is accompanied by changes in hormonal levels in the human body.
Over time, the partners’ bodies get used to each other’s pheromones. This usually occurs after about 3 years. In some couples this period is longer, in others it is shorter. When addiction occurs, it is as if we wake up from a dream and ask: “What was that all about?” Our partner appears before us in new colors; we, who previously looked at him through the veil of love, begin to see his shortcomings. Very often, affection and tenderness are replaced by irritation and anger. Relationships slowly (and sometimes very rapidly) slide into oblivion.
"And it's all? – you say, “All love, all high feelings come down only to pheromones and chemical reactions of the brain?” If this were really so, then there would be no evidence in the world to the contrary. Despite the fact that many couples fail, break up, divorce, there are also many examples when a man and a woman love each other for 3, 5, 10, and 20 years. And their tenderness and love towards each other knows no bounds. Do you think it's a fairy tale? Not at all.
Love lives for three years. This myth becomes a reality if nothing brings you closer to your chosen one except sexual attraction. A relationship between two people is work, and it needs to be built from the very first meeting. Don’t turn a blind eye to omissions and shortcomings, don’t wave your hand and say: “Oh, let it be what will be.” It will be... for the first three years, and then when the time comes to awaken, don’t ask what you did wrong.
An ideal relationship is the work of both partners, when everyone thinks not about themselves, but about their “half.” This does not mean that you need to dissolve in each other, falling into love addiction. To love is not to accept a person with all his advantages and disadvantages, but to understand him. Do not look at him blindly, but understand the motives of his behavior and actions. After all, only when we begin to treat each other more tolerantly does the desire to change our partner go away.
Relationships are built on a common understanding of who is in front of you and what you should or should not expect from him. If you see that your future chosen one is a potential domestic tyrant, then three years later there is no need to cry into your friend’s vest and say: “But he was so gentle in the first year of our acquaintance!” Wake up: the signs of a domestic tyrant can be recognized even at the first meeting, if you know System-Vector Psychology.
We often think: “Since everything is good now, then everything will be great later.” But when that very “later” comes, we cry with disappointment: everything “wonderful” has passed, has dried up, and we simply have nothing to talk about with our chosen one, because all the time allotted for us we did not get to know each other better, did not build relationships at a higher level, but simply indulged in mutual intoxication. And, as you know, the morning after drinking comes a headache. And it will come if you treat relationships only as a source of pleasure.
Love lives for three years. Is it a little or a lot? But each of us has the power to extend or shorten this period. Now, in the era of consumerism, when sex has lost its intimacy and intimacy is becoming increasingly consumerist, it is becoming increasingly difficult to build long-term relationships. Why do you need a long relationship if you can change partners until old age? Who needs a traditional marriage when you can live life to the fullest without it?
As a result, people with an anal vector, monogamous people and adherents of traditions, suffer. They cannot keep up with the flickering skin creatures; it is difficult for them to adapt to new living conditions.
In an era when sex has ceased to be something significant and intimate, the time has come for a new level of relationships - spiritual.
That’s why, if you want love to live not for three years, but much longer, you need to try to build, first of all, a solid foundation of spiritual intimacy, which will guarantee that your tenderness and affection will not dry out after the pheromones expire. You will become each other’s support and support, a saving grace from life’s troubles for many, many years.
Dedicated to Sophie Christine de Chasteigner and Jean-Michel Beigbeder, without whom this book would not have been born (and neither would I)
As a loser, I know what I'm saying.
Scott Fitzgerald
So what? Well, yes! We must call things by their proper names! A person loves, and then no longer loves.
Françoise Sagan (at a dinner party at her home with Brigitte Bardot and Bernard Frank)
Translation from French Nina Khotinskaya
Artwork by Nadezhda Cheremnykh
Beigbeder F. Love lives for three years: Roman / Frederic Beigbeder; lane from French N. Khotinskaya. – M.: Inostranka, Azbuka-Atticus, 2012. – 192 p.
ISBN 978-5-389-00641-6
UDC 821.133–312.6 Begbeder BBK 84(4Fra)–44
ISBN 978–5–389–00641–6
Love is a battle. Lost in advance.
At first everything is fine, even you. You're just amazed that you can be so in love. Every day brings a new portion of miracles. No one on Earth has ever felt so good. There is happiness, it’s as simple as that: it’s someone’s face. The whole world is smiling. For a whole year, your life is one continuous sunny morning, even at dusk and when it snows. You write books about this. Are you in a hurry to get married? Why wait if you are so happy? I don’t want to think, it makes me sad; let life itself decide for you.
In the second year, something changes. You have become more tender. Be proud of how well you and your spouse have gotten used to each other. You understand your wife “at a glance”; how wonderful it is to be one. Your spouse is mistaken on the street for your sister - this flatters you, but it also affects your psyche. You make love less and less and you think: it’s okay. You arrogantly believe that this same love is growing stronger every day, when the end of the world is just around the corner. You defend marriage in front of your bachelor friends - they don’t recognize you. And you yourself are sure that you recognize yourself when you recite your memorized lesson, trying your best not to look at the fresh girls who make the street brighter.
In the third year, you no longer try not to look at the fresh girls who make the street brighter. You don't talk to your wife anymore. Spend long hours with her in a restaurant, listening to your table neighbors babble. You and she are out of the house more and more often: this is a reason not to fuck. And soon the moment comes when you can no longer stand your other half for an extra second, because you have fallen in love with another. There’s only one thing you’re right about: life really always has the last word. In the third year you have two news - good and bad. The good news is that your wife is fed up with everything and is leaving you. The bad news: you're starting a new book.
When you're driving under pressure, the main thing is to aim between the houses and don't miss.
Mark Marronier steps on the gas, causing his scooter to pick up speed. He maneuvers between cars. They flash their headlights at him and buzz when he hits them, just like at weddings in the countryside. Here's the irony of fate: Marronier is just celebrating his divorce. Today he is on tour along route No. 5 bis, and every minute counts: five seats per evening (“Castel” - “Buddha” - “Bus” - “Cabaret” - “Queen”) - that’s already cool, but think about it, that 5-bis, as the name suggests, is performed twice per night.
In such places he is often alone. Secular people are generally loners, lost in a sea of vaguely familiar faces. They cheer up, shaking hands. Every new kiss is a trophy. They indulge themselves in the illusion of their own importance by greeting celebrities, although they themselves have not done a damn thing in life. They try to be only where it is noisy - you don’t have to talk. Holidays are given to a person to hide what is on his mind. Few people know more people than Mark, and few are so lonely.
And tonight is not just a holiday. Today he has a divorce party! Hooray! To begin with, he bought a bottle from each establishment. And, it seems, he managed to take a strong liking to each one.
Mark Marronier, you are the King of the Night, wherever you go, the owner of the establishment himself kisses you on the lips, you skip the line, the best table is waiting for you, you know everyone by last name, you laugh at all the jokes (especially the most unfunny ones), they give you dope for nothing, you show off in photographs everywhere, it’s unclear why on earth, it’s crazy how high you’ve soared in just a few years in the gossip columns! Nabob! "Secular Lion"! But tell me, explain for a minute, why did your wife do something to you with her pen?
“We broke up due to mutual disagreement,” Mark mutters through clenched teeth, entering Bus.
Later he adds:
“I married Anna because she was an angel - and that’s why we got divorced.” I thought I was looking for love, until one day I realized that I wanted the exact opposite - to stay away from her.
A quiet angel flies by at the wrong time, and Mark changes the subject.
- Damn it! he barks. “But the girls are fine here, it’s a pity I didn’t brush my teeth when I was getting ready.” Whoops! Mademoiselle, you are amazingly good. Be so kind as to allow me to undress you!
He’s like that, Marc Marronier: he pretends to be tough in his velvet suit because he’s ashamed to be gentle. He was turning thirty: the in-between age when you are too old to be young and too young to be old. He does everything to live up to his reputation: God forbid he disappoints anyone. He tried so hard to expand his record that he became a caricature of himself. He is tired of proving that he has a kind and deep soul, so he pretends to be a spiteful and superstitious person, deliberately demonstrating a violent, or even rude, disposition. So when he runs out onto the dance floor screaming, “Hurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I’m rr-divorced!” - there is no one willing to console him. Only laser beams pierce the heart like sharp blades.
There comes a time when moving your legs becomes a difficult operation. Staggering, he saddles the scooter again. The night is cold. Having accelerated right off the bat, Mark feels tears running down his cheeks. From the wind, probably. His eyelids are still stone motionless. He doesn't wear a helmet. Dolce Vita? What kind of Dolce Vita? Where is she? There are too many memories, too much to forget, it will be a hell of a job to erase all this from memory, how many wonderful minutes will have to be experienced in return for those former ones.
He meets with friends at the Baron on Avenue Marceau. Champagne is exorbitantly expensive, and so are the girls. For example, if you want to have sex with two, pay six thousand, and with one, pay three. And they don't even offer discounts. They demand to pay in cash; Mark goes to the ATM with his credit card; they take him to a hotel, undress in a taxi, suck him off as a couple, and he knows he presses on their heads; in the room they smear themselves with fragrant cream, he inserts one and licks the other; after a while, realizing that he will not cum, he feigns an orgasm, after which he goes to the bathroom to secretly throw away the empty condom.
In a taxi on the way back, early in the morning, he hears:
He decides from now on to masturbate before going out, so that the demon will no longer be tempted to do who knows what.
Hello everyone, I'm the author. Welcome to my brain, sorry for the intrusion. I won’t fool you any longer: I am my main character. All that usually happens to me is seeds. Nobody dies from this. For example, I have never set foot in Sarajevo. My dramas play out in restaurants, nightclubs and stucco apartments. The biggest tragedy I have had to endure recently is that I was not invited to honor John Galliano. And suddenly on you: for no apparent reason I’m dying, I feel so bad. I remember the time when all my friends drank bitter, then got rich, then got married, and now the period has come when everyone gets divorced before dying. And this happens, by the way, in the most fun places, here, for example, on the Red Sail, the beach in Saint-Tropez, it’s hot, eurodance at the bar, to refresh the lumpen pussies in bikinis, they are poured with Crystal Roederer for a million old 0.75 liters, and then they suck their navels with it. In all corners they giggle forcedly. I would drown myself in the sea, but too many people water ski.
How did I allow window dressing to crush my life to such an extent? They often say: “We need to save face.” And I say, you have to kill the face, that’s the only way you’ll save yourself.
There are places in Paris in winter where it is somehow especially cold. No matter how much you drink strong drinks, it seems as if a snowstorm is blowing right through the bars. An ice age is coming. Even in the crowd the beater gets through.
I did everything right: I was born into a good family, studied at the Montaigne Lyceum, then at the Louis the Great Lyceum, received higher education at institutes where I moved among intelligent people; I invited them to dance, there were also those who gave me work; I married the most beautiful girl I know. Why is it so cold here? At what point did I make a mistake? I only wanted to please you, and it wasn’t so difficult for me to comply. Why don't I have the right to live like everyone else? Why, instead of the simple happiness with which I was lured, did I get only difficulties and frustration?
I'm a dead man. I wake up in the morning, and I unbearably want one thing - to sleep. I dress in black: I mourn for myself. Mourning for the man he did not become. I walk like an automaton along the Rue des Arts - the street where Oscar Wilde died, just like me. I go to a restaurant where I don’t eat anything. The head waiters are offended that I don’t touch the dishes. Have you seen a lot of dead people finishing hot food and licking their lips? That is, everything I drink, I drink on an empty stomach. What's good: I get drunk quickly. What's bad: I get a stomach ulcer.
I don't smile anymore. This is beyond my strength. I'm dead and buried. I won't have children. Dead people do not produce offspring. I'm a dead man shaking hands with people I know in a cafe. A very sociable dead man and very cold. I'm probably the saddest person I've ever met in my life.
In winter in Paris, when the temperature drops below zero, people desperately need little rooms in the back of the cafe, where the lights are on all night. There, huddled in a herd so that no one can see, you can finally begin to tremble.
You can be a tall brunette and cry. To do this, it is enough to suddenly discover that love lasts three years. I wish my worst enemy to know this truth (this is a figure of speech - I have no enemies). Snobs have no enemies, that's why they slander everyone: they try to have them.
A mosquito has an eyelid of one day, a rose has three. A cat's age is thirteen years, love's age is three years. And there's nothing you can do about it. First a year of passion, then a year of tenderness and, finally, a year of boredom.
In the first year they say, “If you leave, I WILL commit suicide.”
In the second year they say: “If you leave, it will hurt me, but I will survive.”
In the third year they say: “If you leave, I will wash it with champagne.”
And no one will warn you that love only lasts three years. This whole love scam is based on the strictest adherence to secrecy. You are told that this is for life, but in fact, love chemically ceases to exist after three years. I myself read in one women’s magazine: love is a short-term increase in the level of dopamine, norepinephrine, prolactin, luliberin and oxytacin. The tiny molecule of phenylethylamine (PEA) causes certain sensations: high spirits, excitement, euphoria. Love at first sight is the saturation of PEA in the neurons of the limbic system. And tenderness is endorphins (opiate for two). Society is leading you by the nose: they sell you great love, when in fact it has been scientifically proven that these hormones only last for three years.
However, the statistics speak for themselves: passion lasts on average 317.5 days (which, interesting to know, happens in the last half day...), and in Paris, out of three marriages, two break up in the first three years. In UN demographic yearbooks, census workers have asked people in sixty-two countries questions about divorce since 1947. Most couples divorce in the fourth year of marriage (meaning the process was started at the end of the third year). “In Finland, Russia, Egypt, South Africa, hundreds of millions of men and women surveyed by the UN who speak different languages, work in different fields, dress differently, use different currencies, pray to different gods and fear different demons, have endlessly varied hopes and illusions... the divorce curve rises rapidly after three years of marriage.” This common place is just another humiliation.
Three years! Statistics, biochemistry, my personal experience: the term of love is the same. I don't like such coincidences. Why three years, and not two, not four or, say, six hundred? In my opinion, this confirms the existence of three stages that Stendhal, Barthes and Barbara Cartland repeatedly identified: Passion - Tenderness - Boredom, a cycle of three stages, each a year long - a triad, unshakable, like the Holy Trinity.
In the first year they buy furniture.
In the second year, the furniture is rearranged.
In the third year, the furniture is divided.
Ferré's song says it all: "In time, love passes." Who are you to compete with glands and neurotransmitters that will inevitably fail you just in time? Lyrics would be nice, you can argue with poets, but you can’t argue with natural sciences and demography.
I got home barely alive. Lord, is it really possible to bring yourself to such a state at my age! The cult of the green serpent is all right at eighteen years old, but at thirty it’s already pathetic. I swallowed half of ecstasy so I could kiss strangers without any problems. Otherwise I would not have dared to try my luck. I can’t count how many girls I never kissed because I was afraid of getting hit in the face. That's my charm: I'm not sure I have it. At Queen’s, two runny blondes, okay, pretty,” they fumbled with their tongues in my ears, creating a stereophonic gurgling effect, “asked:
- Shall we go to your place or to ours?
Having given both of them a collective blowjob at once (and biting into four breasts), I proudly answered:
- You go to your place, and I go to mine. I don’t have rubber bands with me, and besides, I’m celebrating my divorce today, so I’ll be jittery in case I can’t get hard.
I saddled up on my scooter and returned to my empty apartment. The hand of fear squeezed my stomach: it was ecstasy. What's the point: did you really have to run away from yourself all night in order to be overtaken at home in the end? In my coat pocket I found the remains of cocaine in an envelope. Pulled straight from craft paper. At least it will dispel the blues a little. I was left with white powder on the tip of my nose. I don't want to sleep anymore. It's already morning, France will soon get to work. Meanwhile, one young man stuck in childhood will not move. Too cross-eyed to sleep, read or write, I will stare at the ceiling for hours, gritting my teeth. Red face and white nose - I see a clown in the mirror in the negative.
I won't go to work today. There is something to be proud of: I abandoned the bisexual group the day after the divorce. You're sick of all these chicks you sleep with, but you don't want to wake up. Except perhaps for the milk that escaped from the saucepan, there are few sights on earth more pitiful than me.
Repeat the following three phrases often:
1. THERE IS NO HAPPINESS.
2. LOVE IS TALES.
3. AND IT’S NOTHING SCARY.
All jokes aside, it looks stupid, but this recipe may have saved my life when I got to the bottom of it. Try it yourself during your next nervous depression. Highly recommend.
Here's another list of sad songs that are useful to listen to to get out of the hole: “April come she will” by Simon & Garfunkel (20 times), “Something in the way she moves” by James Taylor (10 times), “If it weren’t for you” was" by Joe Dassin (5 times), "Sixty years on" and "Border song" by Elton John (40 times), "Everybody hurts" by REM (5 times), "A few words of love" by Michel Berger (40 times, but better don't tell anyone), "Memory Motel" by the Rolling Stones (8 and a half times), "Living without you" by Randy Newman (100 times), "Caroline No" by the Beach Boys (600 times), "Kreutzer Sonata" by Ludwig van Beethoven (6 thousand times). An excellent hodgepodge - I already have a slogan ready:
The collection heals the mind,
Gathering for black thoughts.
At thirty years old, I am still unable to look into the eyes of a beautiful girl without blushing. No, you have to have such an impressionable nature! I'm too jaded to fall in love for real; To remain indifferent - too sensitive. In short, he's too weak to be married for long. Well, what kind of fly bit me? Of course, it is tempting to refer you to the previous two volumes, but this would not be entirely fair play, considering that these romantic masterpieces were trashed soon after their modest success.
So, a summary of the previous episodes: I was an incorrigible waster, a pure product of our society of useless luxury. Born on September 21, 1965, twenty years after the liberation of Auschwitz, on the first day of autumn. I was born on the day when the leaves begin to fall from the trees, on the day when the days shorten. This is probably where my natural disappointment comes from. I earned my daily bread by stringing together words, in newspapers or advertising agencies - the latter are preferable, since they pay more for fewer words. He became famous for organizing holidays in Paris at a time when there were no holidays in Paris. It has nothing to do with words, but this is how I made a name for myself, probably because these days, word stringers are considered less significant figures than the people who appear in pictures in illustrated magazines, in the “Nightlife” section.
I surprised those who were interested in my biography when I married for love. One day I looked into blue eyes and I saw eternity in them. I, who fluttered from party to party, from profession to profession, so that there was no time to mope, imagined that I was happy.
Anna, my wife, was an unearthly creature of dazzling, almost incredible beauty. Too good to be happy - but this came to me hopelessly late. I could look at her for hours. Sometimes she noticed this and got angry. “Stop staring,” she asked, “don’t embarrass me.” But I looked anyway - she became my favorite object to contemplate. Guys like me, who considered themselves freaks as children, are usually so surprised when they captivate a beautiful girl that they propose to her, perhaps too hastily.
What follows does not sparkle with originality: let's say, so as not to go into details, that the apartment in which we settled was small for such great love. Without even noticing, we began to spend more and more time outside the home, and we were sucked into a very dubious whirlpool. People said about us:
“These two are having a blast.”
- Yes, poor fellows... Things are probably bad for them!
And people were not entirely wrong, although they rejoiced at the opportunity to get a beauty to their lousy parties.
This is how life works: as soon as you feel even a little happy, it will not hesitate to call you to order.
We changed our vows one by one.
We separated the same way we got married: without really understanding why.
Marriage is a colossal scam, a monstrous swindle, pure deception, which we bought into as little children, and this ruined us. Why? How? Yes, very simple. Let's say a young man proposes to his girlfriend. He is barely alive from fear (oh, how cute it is!), he blushes, sweats, mumbles, and her eyes sparkle, she giggles nervously, asks her to repeat: what did you say? But as soon as she answers “yes” - that’s it, responsibilities pile up on them, the list is endless, family lunches and dinners, guest lists, dress fittings, quarrels, as usual, you can’t burp or fart in front of your in-laws, stay straight, smile, smile, there is no end in sight to the nightmare, but this is just the beginning: further - more, see for yourself, everything is arranged so that they hate each other.
Fairy tales only exist in fairy tales. The truth is much uglier. The truth is always unsightly, that’s why everyone lies.
The truth is a photograph of another woman, due to my oversight, found in my travel bag, in Rio de Janeiro (Brazil), on New Year's Eve. The truth is that love begins with roses and ends with thorns. Anna was looking for a hairbrush, and her hair stood on end at the sight of a Polaroid photo complete with love letters not written in her hand.
At the Rio airport, Anna sent me. She wanted to fly to Paris alone, without me. I had nothing to object to her. She cried in surprise. Take away the man who lost everything in twenty seconds. The lovely girl suddenly discovered that life was terrible and that her marriage had collapsed. She saw nothing around her - no airport, no queues, no information boards, everything disappeared except me, her executioner. How I regret today that I didn’t grab her into my arms! But I had a complex because she was shedding and shedding tears and everyone was staring at me. It's always somehow awkward to look like a creep in public.
I should have asked for forgiveness, but I said: “Go, you’ll be late for boarding.” I didn't do anything to save her. Just thinking about it still makes my long chin shake. Her eyes were pleading, sorrowful, wet, hateful, tired, anxious, disappointed, naive, proud, contemptuous and still still blue. I will never forget: those eyes knew what pain was. I’ll have to get used to living with this dirty trick, there’s no escape. They pity the sufferers, but not the torturers. Figure it out yourself, old man, how big he is. You are a man who doesn't keep his promises. Remember what it says at the end of "Adolph" 2
A textbook story for the French by Benjamin Constant (1767–1830).
: “The biggest problem in life is the suffering you cause, and the most sophisticated philosophy cannot justify a person who tormented the heart that loved him.”
Frederic Beigbeder is a writer distinguished by his particular frankness in narrating the lives of his heroes. One of his most famous works is “Love Lives for Three Years.” It received many reviews from readers and critics, both flattering and not so flattering. The name itself is intriguing, and the reader wants to check whether this is really so. Although the main meaning of the book may be completely different. The theory of hormones in love is taken as a basis. It is believed that in the first three years of a relationship, all emotions are caused by a hormonal surge, and when it subsides, it is as if the person takes off rose-colored glasses and does not understand why he fell in love with his partner.
The main character of the novel has exactly this point of view. Mark works as a journalist and does not have a very bright or attractive appearance. But his wife is simply beautiful. Their relationship with Anna has lasted for three years; Mark recalls their entire life on the pages of the work. He analyzes his emotions, coming to the conclusion that for three years his feelings have been fading away and now there is little left of them. Referring to previous experiences, he realizes that he has never loved more than this period.
Alice appeared in his life, who was able to brighten up his gray everyday life. The hero talks a lot about betrayal in marriage, about love and relationships. He feels that with Alice he is living for real. But following his assumptions about the timing of love, he waits for the fateful hour when it goes out.
In the book, the author shows how much we depend on our own prejudices, often ruining the lives of ourselves and our loved ones. The main character does not treat love and marriage as something serious, it is like a game that lasts three years and then must be finished. The writer managed to well reflect the realities of modern society and make us think about the fact that love lasts not three years, but as long as we ourselves want.
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